


One Good Movie Kiss

by objectlesson



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Birthday Party, Butch/Femme, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Drunk Lightning, F/F, First Time, Frottage, Gay Bar, Grinding, Love Confessions, Mentioned Doc/OFCs, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Who cares if the mereideaof some other girl getting to kiss Doc makes Lighting feel physically ill? It’s notherbirthday. It’s hercrew-chief’sbirthday and she happens to be an expert in willful self destruction and very good birthday gifts, so. Nothing is going to stop her from getting Doc kissed, or possibly laid. Not extenuating circumstance, not her own messy, ugly feelings.Especiallynot her own messy, ugly feelings.
Relationships: Doc Hudson/Lightning McQueen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 76





	One Good Movie Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesbianmcqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmcqueen/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ISABELLE YOU ARE ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE PEOPLE IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE AND I FEEL SO BLESSED BY OUR FRIENDSHIP so here are some lesbians for youuuu <333 I hope your day is amazing <333

——-

The first ten times Lightning asks what Doc wants for her birthday, she answers with a firm, unwavering _nothing._

Lightning refuses to accept that, though, so she keeps springing the question on her when she’s least expecting it. At the gym in the middle of sit ups. At the grocery store over a cart full of clif bars and protein shakes. At Flo’s right as it opens, while they drink black coffee and Lightning’s limbs are still humming from dawn practice. She asks in the pits. In the car. At dinner. But Doc doesn't ever waver. All she does is offer that unchanging one word answer, or roll her eyes and mumble _I already told you, kid._

It’s become reflexive at this point, for Lightning to stubbornly dig at every one of Doc’s points of rigidity, until something caves. It finally happens as they’re standing in the desert after racing each other around the butte a few times, backs up against the Hornet’s still-hot side while they share a Heineken in the dark. Lightning watches the stars swim, heart leaping every time her hand touches Doc’s, every time she presses her lips to the green glass neck and think’s about Doc’s mouth spread wide and hot over the same secret place. She used to think this was some sort of hero-worship crush, but now she knows it’s something much, much more enduring. Something much uglier. “What do you want for your birthday?” she asks, because she’s tipsy and in love and the desert is lukewarm and she feels like she could stay here forever, watching the stars reflect back in the pitchy center of Doc’s blue eyes. 

“A kiss,” Doc coughs out, swirling the foamy remnants of the beer around counter clockwise. “One good movie kiss before I die.” 

Lightning’s ears ring, her hands suddenly hot and sweaty as she flattens them over her thighs, itching for something to claw her nails into to keep the shock and thrill from registering on her face. “You serious?” she asks, stunned not _only_ because this is the only real shit she’s gotten after one hundred hollow answers, but because his is the first time _ever_ Doc has ever spoken of her own loneliness, or intimacy, or kisses _at all_. Lightning looks at her lips all the time; dreams of the heat of them over her pulse, the give if she were to lick them apart. But up until now, she’s been convinced Doc just—didn’t want that sort of thing with a woman anymore, that she’d grown too old, heart too broken to ever try mending it with kisses ever again. _I volunteer as tribute,_ she imagines joking, but the mere notion of laying that out there tightens her throat so much she’s forced to rapidly swallow gulps of dry desert air instead. 

Doc laughs, shaking her head. “Is that so shocking to you?’ she asks as their arms knock together. “God. M’not dead, not yet.” 

Lightning frowns. She had a much easier time stomaching Doc’s utter lack of romantic interest in _her_ when she could decide it was because Doc just didn’t want to chase girls anymore, _period_. But she apparently _does_ want to chase girls. She just doesn’t want to chase Lightning. (Who wouldn’t be that much of a chase, to be honest. She would lie down in the dirt, she would surrender her need to be fast, because there are other ways to win. Like finally getting the exact improbable thing that she wants.)

“No!” she lies, digging her heels into the dirt. “You just. You said you didn’t want anything for so long.” 

“Maybe I lied,” Doc offers before handing over the bottle. “You can kill this off.’” 

Lightning drinks the warm swill of her backwash, and wishes it were a kiss. 

—-

Now that she knows what Doc wants for her birthday, Lightning has decided she’s just being a shitty friend if she doesn’t make it happen for her, no matter the cost. 

Who cares if the mere _idea_ of some other girl getting to kiss Doc makes Lighting feel physically ill? It’s not _her_ birthday. It’s her _crew-chief’s_ birthday and she happens to be an expert in willful self destruction and very good birthday gifts, so. Nothing is going to stop her from getting Doc kissed, or possibly laid. Not extenuating circumstance, not her own messy, ugly feelings. _Especially_ not her own messy, ugly feelings. 

They’re in California the actual day of Doc’s birthday, and Lightning _knows_ she won’t go out to celebrate unless there’s something else to hang the festivities on, so she makes _extra_ sure to win the XFinity series this year. That way, Doc will accompany her to a bar in West Hollywood under the guise of celebrating the win, instead of grumbling about how she doesn’t want any fuss made for her birthday. 

Once they get to WeHo, Lightning doesn’t even _mention_ the birthday thing. She just lets Doc believe she forgot all about it in the excitement of winning. She doesn’t reveal her true intention until they’re at Flaming Saddles with the pit crew, the night shaping up gloriously before them like a Vegas buffet. Fillmore is talking to a drag queen and Sarge is standing very, very uncomfortably next to them both, pretending to take in the scenery. Guido is dancing on a table, and Luigi all fired up and fighting over every guy who mistakes his boyfriend as a stripper, slapping their hands as they try to stuff dollar bills in his briefs. Lightning is dancing, watching Doc standing up against the bar, pretending to not have a good time, even though she’s _clearly_ having a good time. It’s officially midnight, meaning well drinks are discounted, so Lightning is officially on the pathway to drunkenness, which will make what she’s about to embark on ten times easier. 

She orders herself a vodka cranberry, Doc another bourbon and rootbeer, and then she announces she’s going downstairs to get some air and look for Sarge, who has recently disappeared, probably finding a dark corner somewhere to disassociate or whatever he does when Fillmore forces him into gay spaces. Instead, Lightning finds a very cute group of thirty to forty-something year old lesbians there for their friend’s bachelorette. “Hi,” she says, laying her hand on one of their shoulders. “Are you ladies single by any chance? Because—because it’s my friends birthday. And it would make her fucking night if one. Or like, _all_ of you kissed her.” 

They all stare at her, eyes wide. One taps ash off the end of her cigarette and says, “God, I wish I had a friend like you.” Then they erupt into laughter, and Lightning grins, flipping her hair, playing the part of a good friend who’s totally not in love with her crew chief or anything weird like that. 

“Where is she?” one of the women asks, adjusting her clingy black tank top with _team bride(s)_ emblazoned in rainbow across her tits. “I’m ready, I’m on this.”

“She’s on the top floor, by the bar. You can’t miss her, she’s really tall,” Lightning explains, holding her hand up above her own head to demonstrate, stumbling in her heeled cowboy boots. “She’s older, turning seventy-two today, actually, but you wouldn’t know it.” 

One of the women chokes. “Seventy two? You brought a seventy two year old woman to _West Hollywood?”_

Lightning bristles, feeling defensive. If these women don’t want to kiss Doc, fuck them. They have no idea what they’re missing. “Trust me, she’s hot. She’s like. The tallest hottest butch in this whole bar. She has really really really blue eyes.” She barks, deciding to stop there, since her voice is starting to get dreamy with longing, her chest is starting to ache. “So, please help me out and go give her a kiss?” 

The first girl, claps, rubs her hands together, and yelps “me first! I don’t mind em’ older.” Then she stops one of the shirtless guys weaving through the patio so she can buy a test-tube jello shot off of him, throwing it back before she shudders and announces, “m’gonna go find this tall drink of water.” 

“Yay!” Lightning cheers, pretending she’s not breaking her own goddamned heart. Then, once the woman has disappeared upstairs, she orders herself another drink, having accidentally downed the first one without even really tasting it. 

—-

Within the next hour, Lightning has sent the _entire_ bridal party and two drunk (possibly straight but very open minded) twenty something skinny blonde girls up to kiss Doc before Doc must realize something is up, and comes to find her downstairs.

When those blue blue eyes fixed on Lightning across the room she looks—-mad, maybe. Lightning can’t tell because she’s very drunk and the patio is very smoke-hazy and Doc is generally quite hard to read. As she gets closer, blue eyes flashing, Lightning notices there’s lip gloss on the collar of her shirt, and the pain of that zings through her body is so powerful she stumbles. 

Doc grabs her wrist, and steers her back inside. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, shouting to be heard over the pulsing Reggaton and general din of the bar. Lightning trips after her, head spinning, stomach in knots. 

“I—because its your birthday!” Lightning calls after her. It comes out too loud because Doc’s shoved her into some quiet corner in the back by the bathroom, next to a brick-wall where a gay couple wearing matching gold spandex shorts are making out. “You said it’s what you wanted,” she mumbles, quieter this time. She’s dizzy, her hair is everywhere, and her heart fucking _hurts_. Everything hurts. 

Doc shakes her head and it sets her slightly off balance, and it’s only than that Lightning realizes how drunk she is, too. Her eyes are unfocused, blown wide with pupil, and she keeps rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth, like she’s remembering other women’s lips and _fuck,_ Lightning hates this, she _hates_ every second of it. “I’m sorry,” she pleads, reaching out and tugging on Doc’s sleeve. “I just thought when you—than you meant—”

“I meant _you,”_ Doc grits out, rounding on her, looking down with a hectic sort of grief painted across her face, something wild and self destructive. Lightning knows, because she’s an expert on such things. A seasoned professional. 

She stares up at Doc, confused, the words echoing in her head, repeating on a meaningless, incomprehensible loop. 

There’s a moment of thrumming tension before Doc curses, reaches out with both hands to cup Lightning’s flushed face between them fiercely. Then, she pulls her in close towards the heat of her body and fucking kisses her. 

One good movie kiss. Right there in the middle of the club, her mouth as soft as Lightning has always imagined, burning with whiskey, breath hot and gasping as she pulls away. “There,” she growls, stumbling back. “You can leave me alone now.” 

Lightning is _not_ gonna fucking leave her alone. She’s panting, she's shivering, she hasn’t recovered yet but she wants more, she wants to _drown._ Soshe grabs Doc by the belt, pulling her upright so she towers over her, a whole head and a half taller even when Lightning’s in heels. “Happy birthday,” she manages to get out before she throws her arms around Doc’s neck and kisses her again, vision whiting out the second their lips touch. 

She thought she might have to convince Doc, that she’d think this was a joke, a gambit, an apology. But instead, Doc spins her around and pushes her up against the brick wall, hands in her hair, around her throat gentle but firm, guiding her with such certainty Lightning wants to fucking _dissolve._ She tries to push her thighs together and squeeze, but instead Doc is driving her leg between Lightning’s knees, pressing it up towards her center, tongue slick and perfect in her mouth like kissing is fucking and fucking is kissing. _Jesus fucking christ,_ Lightning hopes she didn’t kiss all those other girls like this, because it feels like absolution, like revelation, and she hopes something that beautiful was meant _only_ for her. 

“You’re impossible,” Doc breathes, mouth skating down to her jaw, her neck, behind her ear. “What are you up to, dragging me out here, dancing so pretty in your short shorts, then disappearing and throw a bunch of strangers at me? Are you trying to break my heart?” she asks in a scrape, sliding one hand up the back of Lightning’s shirt where her skin is hot and sweat-sticky. She shivers, moans out loud, head thunking against the wall as she lets it fall back. “Why are you kissing me now?” Doc demands, nails dragging down her spine, fingers scrambling for purchase, for fistfuls of flesh too tight to actually grab. “Is it because you’re drunk? Because you’re sorry? Because you like messing with my head?” 

“Doc,” Lightning begs, grinding down hungrily onto Doc’s leg, two layers of denim bunching between them. She’d worry she was being too much in public, for a _normal_ person let alone a closeted professional sports celebrity, if it weren’t for her inability to think about literally _anything_ save for this moment: Doc’s mouth on her skin, Doc’s hands under her clothes. The wild thrum of heaven opening up to swallow them both. “M’not—I wasn’t trying to break your heart. Just mine,” she mumbles nonsensically, whimpering as Doc sucks a mark hungrily into her speeding pulse. Then, because it’s all she can think about, the only thing the _knows,_ Lightning breathes, _“_ M’kissing you because I’m fucking in love with you.”

Doc’s grip tightens on her waist, her teeth drag sudden and hungry over the tendons in her neck as she trembles. “I—Really?” she slurs, thumbing into the ditch of Lightning’s waist, such a light, sweet, searching touch amid so much bruising pressure. It seems to sum Doc up in her entirety: sugar-sweet tenderness wrapped in so many layers of barbed wire it’s hard to see between the slats. But Lightning doesn’t mind that her hands are bleeding; she will unspool it all away, or die trying. “I thought—thought you liked pretty girls,” Doc says, carding a hand through Lightning’s hair, voice thick with disbelief. 

“I like _all_ girls,” Lightning explains in a rush, rolling her hips to _show her_ , head spinning as she tries to find Doc’s mouth again, kiss it blind. “I _love_ you.” 

And the lights might flicker, or the earth might crack, or a star might fall, somewhere outside in LA’s light polluted grey-blue sky. The world pauses for a breath, at least, and Lightning counts three terrified thuds of her heard before something breaks. 

“I love you,” Doc finally murmurs, thumbing over her lower lip, clumsy with awe. “I’ve—fuck, out by the butte that night, it felt like I was telling you. Like I was confessing it, when I asked for a kiss. I didn’t think you heard. ”

“I heard,” Lighting promises. “I was just too stupid to think it was about me. I was so sure that if you wanted me, you would have already made me yours.” 

“No, no,” Doc breathes, grinding their brows together, too-blue eyes fluttering closed. “I was too busy being yours, already.” 

“Kiss me, fuck,” Lightning demands, not able to take it anymore, not able to survive another second without the taste of Doc’s whiskey spit on her tongue, the full weight of her body shoving her up against this wall. Now that she knows she can have her, she _needs_ her. She needs her desperately. 

She tugs at her clothes and Doc crumbles into the sway, reaches for her face again, tilts her chin up between thumb and forefinger to press their lips together fiercely. Even drunk she’s such a fucking good kisser, so fierce and certain and _hungry,_ Lightning doesn’t have to even wonder if she wants this or not, she can _feel_ it bowling her over, turning her inside out. Doc licks her teeth apart, she gently bites her lower lip, she sucks Lightning’s tongue like she’s thinking about other parts of her she wants to get her mouth on. It’s so fucking much Lightning is _pulsing,_ stomach twisting and dropping in waves of overwhelm at every touch, seam of her shorts grinding against her already swollen clit. “Take me back to the hotel,” she begs as they part, Doc pitching back to bury her face in Lightning’s hair and inhale greedily. “Please. Please. M’wet for you,” she whispers. 

Doc freezes, digs her nails in. “Yeah,” she says then, smoothing a hand so far up inside Lightning’s shirt her knuckles brush against her bra. “Let’s get out of here.” 

—-

Getting out of the club out to Santa Monica takes forever, but the cab ride after the fact seems to stretch on so excruciatingly Lightning feels like she’s losing her mind. They’re positively _crawling_ through the two am traffic towards their hotel downtown, and she just can’t _take_ it. Not when she has so much to look forward to. Not when her whole world has been turned upside down.

It might be inching by at such a terrible pace because Doc won’t stop _teasing_ her, gripping her thigh up by the frayed hem of her shorts, sneaking fingers under the denim to brush against soft skin, lips warm on her neck as she kisses her there over and over again, sweet and chaste but _lingering._ If she had _her_ way, Lightning would just drunkenly climb onto Doc’s lap, pull the crotch of her shorts and panties to the side and ride her thigh _right there,_ suck on her fingers, kiss her until they both couldn’t _breathe_ …but Doc still seems to have at least half her wits about her. _Not yet, babygirl,_ she murmurs, and _fuck,_ god, who knew Lightning needed to be called that and variations of that exclusively for the rest of her goddamned _life?_ Not her _._ It feels like a fucking _revelation._ She whimpers, but Doc kisses her quiet in the backseat while the driver sighs in irritation. _Sh. You’re a big NASCAR racer. Can’t get caught in the back of a cab in your crew chief’s lap, can you?_

So it’s a terrible, maddening, too-long ride, made worse by the fact Lightning is slowly sobering up in traffic, the reality of Doc _wanting her,_ kissing her, _touching her_ sinking in like poison, making her stomach churn and twist in overwhelm. She didn't dream this up, she didn’t _imagine_ it. Doc is right here, the smell of her cologne spicy over the smell of her sweat, her warm hands feeling Lightning out in the dark, promising more. _Fuck._ She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering, her stomach is in knots. 

When they finally make it to the hotel, her underwear are soaked through, pushed up inside her puffy lips uncomfortably, so she shudders as she stumbles out of the cab. Doc, by comparison, is more composed, but the second they key themselves into their room she’s all over her again, pulling her close, hands mauling up her back, into the mess of her hair like she can’t get enough. “You’ve got to tell me _now_ ,” she rasps out against her throat, both of them stumbling as they make their way clumsily to the bed. “If this is what you really want. I—need to know if you’re serious. Won’t hold it against you if you’re not, if you—if you want to rethink—”

“Doc,” Lightning groans, letting go only long enough to spill backwards onto the crisply made bed in a clumsy mess. “I want you to come here, and fuck me.” 

“Jesus, alright then,” Doc murmurs, unbuckling her belt, the sound and methodical grace of it making Lightning short of breath. She wants to get undressed, but not as much as she wants Doc to _undress_ her. She can imagine the tender, careful way she’ll do it, just like she does everything else. “Love your dirty mouth,” Doc confessed before she kisses her, bracketing Lighting’s body in between her spread knees as she clambers onto the bed. “Love all of you. Can’t believe you’re real, that you… _fuck._ How—what do you like?” she asks, peeling back and sitting on her heels while she smooths her hands down Lightning’s body, trembling with wavering restraint. 

Lightning shivers, lets her head fall back. “I—this is gonna sound stupid, but I sort of…don’t know?” she admits. “You’re like my first—I dunno. _Experienced_ lesbian. I always fuck ‘straight’ girls, or less experienced girls, and I just take charge and rock their worlds and then, um, get myself off. Or let them try and take over or fake it if its really bad or if they have acrylics or something? God,” she mumbles, hiding her face in her hands as she watches the barely contained amusement on Doc’s face, glittering like new frost in her eyes. “You’re so sexy and I sound like I don’t know what I’m doing, but I—M’just not usually on this end of it.” 

Doc laughs, leans down and kisses her cheeks, her neck, holding her waist tight and sweet and reassuring with her big hands. “Hey, me too. I hardly ever let girls touch me, actually, I get off plenty on touching them. So, we can figure it out together.” 

Lightning looks up through her lashes. “Will you let me touch you, though?” 

“Yes,” Doc murmurs very quietly into the corner of her mouth, eyes dark with pupil, so fucking sincere it makes Lightning feel faint to burn up in the heat of her gaze. “If you want to. I’ll do anything for you, baby. Love of my fucking life.” 

Breathless and gasping, Lightning clutches at Doc’s back, pulls her down so close. “Love you, fuck, _fuck,_ love you so much. Of course I want to touch you, I want everything. Want you to fuck me every way there is,” she breathes out in a rush, bending her knees and hooking her legs around Doc’s waist, trying to find purchase and solidity to grind against. She feels like she’s going crazy. “ ’M trying to tell you that you can do whatever you want to me.” 

“God,” Doc mumbles, getting her hands up inside Lightning’s shirt again, spreading them wide across the soft plane of her stomach. “Want everything.” 

“What do you think about? When you’ve thought about fucking me?” Lightning asks, lifting her hips, _begging_ to be touched. “God. Please take my clothes off.” 

“I think about that,” Doc murmurs as she unbuttons Lightning’s shorts, unzipping them too slow, eyes locked hungry and awed at the little patch of lace she’s just revealed. “Think about undressing you. Getting to see all of you, kissing you everywhere. How soft and smooth you’d be, how— _god,_ look at you, so fucking pretty,” she hisses as she tugs her shorts down her thighs, leaving her in her underwear. Lightning usually just wears stretchy boy shorts or even men’s boxer briefs since they’re most comfortable to work out in, but they were going _out_ so she wore one of her rare girly pairs, black mesh topped in red lace around the waistband and leg-holes. Doc thumbs over them reverently, shaking her head. “Gorgeous.” 

“M-not super smooth right now, actually, I haven’t shaved in awhile,” she confesses. She doesn’t think Doc minds much though, seeing as she’s hungrily touching the unruly ash-blonde hair where it’s poking out, smoothing it down, making Lightning shiver. 

“Don’t care,” she says, thumbing so, _so_ gently over the crotch of her panties, making her curl her toes in the sheets and yelp. “You soaked these through. Can smell you, so fucking perfect” she grinds out, before teasingly rubbing back over the thin, wet barrier of fabric. “I think about this all the time, too. What you’d feel like. The sounds you’d make. God, how you’d _taste_.” The last bit comes out snagged and hoarse and it goes _straight_ to Lightning’s cunt, making her arch her back up off the mattress and buck, seeking pressure, contact, heat. 

“Bet I taste good. You should try,” she suggests, reaching down and palming up Doc’ forearms as she teases her, touching her thighs, her ribcage, her stomach, _all_ while strategically avoiding the core of her, where she so _badly_ wants to be touched. “Please.” 

“I will,” Doc murmurs, dipping down to kiss her sweet and deep and slick. “But m’also gonna take my time with you, babygirl. Unwrap you like a present. Get you even wetter, make you forget your own name.” 

Lightning whimpers, hips rolling mindlessly in the air in desperation. “ _Fuck,”_ she hisses, vision whiting out for a moment as Doc carefully, deliberately cups her mound through her underwear. There’s no _real_ pressure to it, though, it’s a touch so gentle it’s almost as if she’s not there at all, just heat bleeding through wet fabric, sinking into her before i’ts gone again. “Ugh, you feel so good,” Lightning grinds out. 

“Already?” Doc murmurs, kissing down her neck, her heaving sternum, into the sweat-dewy ditch between her breasts as she rucks the neck of her shirt wider. “God, your tits. M’always trying not to look at them, but you never wear a fucking bra. Your nipples are always showing, drives me crazy.” 

“I’m wearing a bra _now,”_ Lightning whines, arching her back to press herself into Doc’s mouth. “You gonna take it off?” 

“Yeah, hold your horses,” Doc says, rucking her shirt up and off, gazing down at her with hazy, hungry eyes. “God, look at you,” she groans, cupping Lightning’s tits through the stretchy spandex of her sports bra. “There’s no hook on this thing, guess I gotta pull it over your head, huh? No chance to be smooth and impress you.” 

“M’already impressed,” Lightning promises, sitting up and shivering as Doc works her bra up her ribcage and over her head, tenderly freeing her hair from the neck, drinking her in. “Are you?” 

“You’re—god, baby _girl_ ,” Doc chokes out before tipping her back into the mattress, hands all over her tits, pushing them together, squeezing, thumbing her nipples into hard, yearning points. “You’re so perfect. Even better than I imagined,” she groans, touch getting rough, possessive, _delicious._ Lightning keens, sensation flooding in her gut. Her nipples are sensitive, so sensitive sometimes having them rubbed or sucked is too much, but she’s so fucking turned on right now it goes straight to her cunt, making her throb.

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” she asks, shifting so she can grind on Doc’s leg. As soon as she straddles her thigh and bears down Doc lets out a muffled moan against her breastbone, pressing up into her, making her squirm. 

“Tried not to, did anyway,” Doc confesses, rubbing her face into Lightning’s tits, eyes fluttering closed as she flicks her tongue over her nard nipple. “God, can feel how wet you are. Even through my pants.” 

“So fucking wet,” Lighting murmurs, reaching down to tug aside the crotch of her panties so she can press her bare cunt right into Doc’s jeans, get them all sloppy. She spreads her lips with her index and middle finger, craning her neck to _look,_ to gaze down in primal awe at the way she looks: pink and puffy and grinding against denim, clit so swollen. “Fuck,” she moans, rubbing herself against Doc, canting up into the perfect heat of her mouth as she sucks her nipple. “That feels so— _fuck,_ Doc, don’t stop, just—“ 

Doc presses solidly into her with her thigh, pulls away gasping to mouth over to the other nipple and lash her tongue over it a few times before sucking it in past her teeth, rough and nervy. “Goddamn, kid—you gonna come like this? Humping my leg?” She asks when she pulls away to look down hungrily as Lightning’s skin, red and spit-slick.

“Yes,” Lightning gasps, saying it the second she realizes it, the inevitable wave of heat building in her stomach as she rocks against the solidity of Doc’s quads, her soft folds raw and burning as she rubs them mercilessly into the rough denim of her jeans. Then she chokes out a helpless laugh—shocked, really, because she's not sure she’s _ever_ come so fast, even alone with the detachable shower head or her vibrator. But because it’s _Doc_ she’s so worked up, she feels so _safe_ , she feels so—it crashes over her before she has time to even warn Doc about it. 

“Oh _god,_ just like that babygirl, come for me,” Doc rumbles, voice ripped out of her, broken and hoarse, mouth wet against Lightning’s swollen nipple. “So fucking beautiful,” she hisses, and Lightning’s brain is static, her body is fire. She crumples in the aftermath, hair in her mouth, heart in her throat. 

“Oh my fucking— _what the fuck,”_ she wheezes, forcing her hand into the tight space between her cunt and Doc’s wet jeans to feel herself out. “I just. I came. From you sucking my _nipples._ We didn’t get to literally! Any of the shit we even talked about,” she exclaims before dissolving into frantic giggles. She feels _high,_ she feels perfect. Doc is grinning down at her like she’s in love, and she feels that, too. 

“Well,” Doc mumbles,” peeling her leg away, shifting to kiss her way down Lightning’s still tensing stomach. “Good thing we got all night, huh?” 

“All night and all—forever, right?” she asks, dazed as she skates a trembling hand through Doc’s closely shorn hair, marveling at the way the world feels to bright, technicolor, _beautiful._ Doc huffs out a disbelieving laugh against the lace waistband of her panties. 

“Yeah, if you really want that,” she mumbles, pressing a wet, lingering kiss to the trail of hair under Lightning’s navel. “And m’not dreaming.” 

Lightning closes her eyes an grins at the ceiling of their hotel room. “You’re not. Happy birthday, old lady.” 

And then Doc’s pulling away, bearing down, and kissing her hard on the mouth like they kiss in the movies, and Lightning’s heart is spiraling out into the night like a comet. 


End file.
